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“We're the same age, Joe,” I say sympathetically. “You had every chance to put a bullet in my skull back when I took control. I wasn't given my position. I fucking paid for it, in blood.” My voice lowers and his breath catches.
“Yeah, my family's blood.”
“Does it matter whose blood it is?” Luca asks from behind me. I shake my head without looking away from Joe’s mangled face.
“If you had used that brain.” I tap my gun against his temple. “Maybe you could be in my position. But you aren’t. Your uncle gave up his title because he knew he couldn't hold it from me whilst you and the rest of your family stood by and let it happen.”
He gets a bit of life in him and thrashes against his restraints. “Bullshit. You played dirty, you gave him no choice.” He's not lying. I did some questionable things to get us where we are but hasn't everyone?
I roll my eyes. “Me and you, Joe. We're not the same. I’m in charge because If I want something, I'm taking it. You don't have the stomach for it? Don't play with the big boys.”
“You’re not my Capo.” He starts sputtering but I'm bored now.
I bring my gun up and rest it right between his eyes. “Shit time to be a Bianchi.” I sigh. He starts praying. I squeeze the trigger. A few stray drops of blood land on my chest. And that is why I took the shirt off.
I slide my gun back into my waistband and Raff hands me a towel with my shirt and Jacket. You’d think I would feel better after that. I don’t. I nod to Carms as I shrug it back on. “Dump his body in the river would you?”
He nods in confirmation and pulls out his phone as I start to walk up to the club with Luca and Raff by my side.
“I didn't peg Joe for the dramatics.” Luca drawls.
“Was he easy to break?” I ask. I don't like the thought of having one of our men that weak. I have to remind myself that most of our men didn't grow up how we did. Similar but not quite.
“Twenty minutes.” Luca Tsks. “The Russian put up a better fight than him.”
“You sound like fucking Ted Bundy or something,” Raff says as he stares down at his Ipad which oversees all activity at the club. Our younger brother is a man of few words, built like a mountain and moody as fuck but he’s a real softy underneath it all.
Luca turns his head slightly, eyes fixing on Raff. “What you tryna say?”
Raff rolls his eyes at his iPad. “You sound like a goddamn serial killer is what I’m tryna say.”
“Aren’t I?” Luca replies dryly.
I ignore them. “How's it looking upstairs?”
Raff locks the iPad hanging it in his hand at his side. “Packed. Were slightly over capacity.”
“Good,” I say as we round the corner leading to the service lifts.
He shrugs. “This new guy that's headlining tonight, he’s blown up recently. The amount of traffic he’s pulled in is impressive.”
Luca makes a face. “Probably because his misses is one of those fucking influencers.”
Raffs levels him an unimpressed look and ignores him. “We need to capitalise on this. It's all well and good having the big names but newer artists feel more inclusive. It relates to a different crowd and we should relate to every crowd.” He's got a knack for business, the legal sort of business is where he excels. I tend to let him deal with a lot of it. Me and Luca handle our other, less respectable ventures. The media see me as the Boss of The Family but that’s not strictly true. My brothers and I operate together as a team, it’s why it works so well.
Luca scoffs. “People have no taste in music anymore. Have you heard his shit? It's exactly that, shit.”
Raff grunts something about heavy metal not being real music either and I tune them out. I leave them both at the doors to bicker and head upstairs to the V.I.P. balcony. It looks over the main dance floor of the club. Raff’s right, it's packed tonight. If I was anybody else, I would be worried about the fire marshalls but everyone of importance in this city is in our pocket. The V.I.P. area is full of all of the socialites, athletes and celebs of NYC as usual. The waitresses are all in the standard tight gold dress that hugs their body like a second skin.
We serve only the best in V.I.P. It's all a big pissing contest between tables really, everyone wants to show how much money they’ve got and I make sure my waitresses play into that. The more expensive the bottles, the bigger the fuss. The booths alone cost $25,000 a night. It’s all about ego. Everyone wants to think they’re the biggest baller here. I’d be a fucking idiot not to play into it. Big egos? Good for business.
I walk over to the edge of the balcony to scan over the crowd. The throngs of people moving in unison, my eye catches on two girls walking in the entrance. I notice because one of them is in jeans and we have a strict dress code at Euphoria, but when I really look I’m sure it’s the girl from the other night at the strip club. She’s in a tight corset that only accentuates her small waist, straight-leg jeans and her long hair is scraped back into a high pony that is begging to be pulled.
I stand there and watch for a moment, not that I have a choice. My eyes couldn’t leave her if they wanted to, she's magnetic. She makes her way pulling her blonde friend along through the crowd to the middle of the dance floor. Don Toliver – after partycomes on and they start dancing together, not like she was dancing at the club the other night. This is real, not for the enjoyment of others. She sways to the beat, singing the lyrics to her friend as her friend shouts them back at her with too much enthusiasm. She looks like she doesn’t have a care in the world as they twirl around each other. A huge smile plastered on her face as her friend throws her hands up in the air. This smile is authentic, not the soft staged ones I saw the other night. It's so much bigger, not as pretty but real.
She tilts her head up as she dances, looking around the space. Her eyes finally coast past me on the balcony and snap back abruptly. I give her a cheeky grin and she screws her eyebrows together, the corner of her lips quirks up. She pulls her friend in, whispers and points toward me. I grin at her friend and they start moving towards the stairs that lead up to V.I.P. so I wait. I watched her disappear under the balcony towards the elevator and reappear moments later at the archway to the V.I.P. area. Her blonde friend says something to the security guard and he lets them through without question. She walks straight towards me as I slip my hands in my pockets and lean back against the balcony railing.
Her eyes hit me first and Fuuuuck, those eyes. They’re like a siren’s eyes. She stops mere inches in front of me, tilting her head up to look at me. She’s in much smaller heels tonight making her a lot smaller than me. “Do I need to get a restraining order?” She asks in a stern voice. Little does she know, I practically pay the NYPD wages.
